So this is Christmas.
I don’t know if I can write this with a dry eye. I guess it’s not necessary.
It’s like this: Christmas is hard. None have looked like what I would have imagined even five years ago. Nothing is the same. But you know what? They’re all wonderful and magical and sometimes my life is so great I have to grit my teeth and close my eyes and make sure I never forget. Because, believe it or not, even I have dark days. So many people say I’m the brightest sparkle that they’ve ever known. And I appreciate that. But mental health can be a battleground between your demons and your angels and you have to find your path through.
So carry a machete and get to choppin’ because it’s not that anybody has a perfect life. It’s how they deal with the problems that threaten to overtake them.
Christmas can be an anxiety ridden time. Presents are bought that really aren’t affordable. Time is spent shopping for stuff nobody needs. The constant bustle of fulfilling obligations instead of reflecting on what the meaning of the holiday is.
What are your traditions? Baking cookies with your mom? Hunting the perfect tree at a nursery? Card games Christmas Eve? Holiday cookie swap with your neighborhood friends? Making a trip to Biltmore or Opryland with your closest friends? Is it Candlelight service at church Christmas night?
I go with the flow and try to say yes to everything I can. I missed the library Christmas party because I was out of town for another party, but luckily I got to attend a retirement luncheon today with the same group. It was my second retirement party of the week, actually. The other one was for an engineer at work who retired at the start of Covid and never got a proper send-off. It was in conjunction with our holiday meal which was actually prayed over, believe it or not. Federal employees praying, it really MUST BE Christmas.
After lunch, I went over to my new good friend Stacy’s and (semi) helped her decorate. We got distracted a hundred thousand times, but we did manage to get both trees decorated. This was my favorite, and I sorta welled up, because it wasn’t a planned party. It was just a normal Saturday and she thought enough of me to invite me over just to hang out in pajamas and do whatever. To be included and accepted into the core fold and have no reason for celebration….It was Christmas.
Last night I hosted a few of my good friends for a supper and crafts evening. It’s times like this I wish my house was bigger because I’d like to have alllllll my friends here with all my crockpots going (Rhonda always requests a traditional Southern menu: kraut & smoked sausage, fried taters, cornbread, soup beans, and my syrupy sweet tea). We had a wonderful time and I can’t wait till Christmas next year, we’ve gotta find another excuse to party before then for sure.
I talked to my bestie this morning and we exchanged compliments of a superficial nature (I like her eyebrows, she thinks I have beautiful skin) and it was nice to hear. We don’t have to live next door to be close in hearts (BUT IT SURE WOULD BE NICE, JUST SAYIN’).
Not pictured: Christmas party for work but I promise we had one and it was fun! It was pouring the rain but Miss Betty got to join us, thanks to Lynn going to get her. Always so good to see that sweet lady.
So THIS is my Christmas. It’s not Christmas morning with kids tearing into the latest electronics. It’s not burning up the plastic at Five Oaks. It’s not blow up Santas in the yard or a fancy sit down dinner with relatives you barely tolerate scraping silver on Wedgwood.
It’s friends. Maybe friends I see once a week or once a year, but it’s spending time with them.
It’s friends that became family.
It’s love, warts and all.
This is my Christmas.
And I couldn’t be more grateful.
You are all in my heart, even if we haven’t exchanged a hug or even a text this season. ❤️❤️❤️
From the NFR party that I didn’t know I was supposed to dress for. So I showed up positively ROCKIN’ my Matilda Jane and Hey Dudes 🤣🤣 but it’s alright, I showed ’em ALL how to walk in 5″ hooker heels with a pizza box on my head while rapping some Eminem. #talent
I watched him
As he sat
In the top of a dead tree limb
Still strong enough to bear his weight
Gazing
For at least three hours
For movement
And the drizzle continued
I eventually missed his swoop
Rocketing earthbound
Or as he took to the wing
Hungry
And still in search
Of that elusive meal
A victim
Out scavenging himself
Thankful, Day 20
I’m thankful for my Aunt Bren. She has always been my fun aunt, the one who made me feel so grown up by taking me to nice restaurants, and buying me trendy clothes, and encouraging me to participate in activities that would determine other aspects of my life. She set an example of reading for pleasure, always with a book in her hand on the couch when Uncle Dale was watching TV. I looked forward to the nights I spent at their house (exempting the eve of the juvenile deer hunt) because we would stay up late, just talking or playing cards. Uncle Dale always thought it was so funny that we look so much alike: curly hair, glasses, fair skin…and another, um, attribute that I won’t mention here 🤣 People always thought I was their kid.
And I’m thankful for her sisters for always including me when they get together for holidays. That bunch is lively!! I can’t imagine growing up with four sisters. They share a very strong will but that’s where the similarities end. And that’s what makes it fun being around them.
Of course I still enjoy spending time with my Aunt Brenda. Of course she influenced me heavily, seeing as how I spent so much time around her in my formative years. We both enjoy poking around antique stores and craft shows. We discuss books we’re reading (our tastes vary, but we both still read voraciously), we swap recipes, and of course we used to join forces against Uncle Dale sometimes. Us girls had to stick together!
She’s been so strong this past year. She’s made new friends, made plans, and just put one foot in front of the other for day to day living. You ain’t got much choice when you lose the love of your life: you either go on or you don’t. I’m so glad she saw a way through. I know what a challenge it is. I know he’d be proud of these two little wimpy girls on the hill.
He better be!!
So I’m thankful for my Aunt Bren, who always had good advice for me (still does, when I bother to ask and not go charging forward), a heart of pure squishy gold, and a Christian spirit. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Thankful, Day 6
I think I’ve talked about divisions before. Like, when you’re having a conversation with someone (or maybe just one in your head), about when something happened. I’ll often say, “Let’s see. That was when I was working at the Co-Op the first time.” So that means between 2001 & 2005. Or I might say, “That was after I got married.” Okay, so after 2012. Y’all probably use the birth of your children to figure stuff out. Our biggest life changing moment should be the day we are saved. That is a truly life altering day if you’re living right.
So this day is one of extreme importance as well, a day that lives in my mind as a mark on time.
It is the day I lost my Uncle Dale.
One year I have been without his guidance, his stories, his pestering, his laughs. One year has passed since I’ve told him any tall tales of my own, or eaten his grilled chicken and deer steaks, or performed a requested chore. One whole year I’ve lived with a new hole in my heart. As he would say, “All I know to tell you is you’re gonna have to get tough, Pilgrim.”
But all I’ve ever been was wimpy little girl.
However, in the spirit of being thankful, I can say I had him for 42 and a half years, and I’m thankful for that. I had so many fishing trips to the Clinch, so many “Pilgrim, come out here a minute, I need your help on something” (it’s the “something” that struck icy fear into the marrow of my bones; you never knew what it would be). I had 42 and a half years of short temper and head shakes when I did something he disagreed with (usually like I spent money eating out or on Christmas ornaments), all the exasperation about my horses and boyfriends who were so ugly they’d “kill corn knee high”. I had years of accompanying him to scout for a tree in which to hang his deer stand, hours of Patsy Cline and Rush Limbaugh and one ill-fated deer hunting trip for yours truly, which resulted in about 30 years of stories of me dying of hypothermia. I didn’t really want to shoot a deer as much as I wanted to impress him. Turns out I’m much better suited to fishing for trout and the “elusive yellow perch” than shooting graceful and elegant whitetail deer.
I had 42 and a half years of learning about football and politics and trees and how to grow squash (I knew all about tomatoes already, but I couldn’t make him believe that). I had years of continuing education about how Fords are the superior truck and lots of holidays where we fought over Shirley Pitner’s stack cake and dozens of hours spent on his front porch next door watching the clouds and birds and deer. Oh, and also borer bees. I had 42 and a half years of a gap toothed grin aimed at me. I had 42 and a half years of unconditional love.
I am thankful for that.
It hurts like the devil dickens. Because in the end, despite his best efforts, I’m still just a wimpy little girl.
I could write about unrequited love
Or barely suppressed hate
For I have both in spades
This unseasonable November day
But maybe I won’t write about either-
Since it’s expected
And will purge instead
Of the act of cleaning my teeth
Meticulously
Or how about
How badly I desire Oreo cookies
Perhaps I should be the one to say
That really the leaves weren’t that striking this year
At least
Not where I stood
But you are still waiting aren’t you
For me to fulfill the emotion
Held in check
Should I tell-
Neither are a secret
Not in the traditional sense
But no
It’s like how I have been wanting to watch a movie
But I won’t
Because then you wouldn’t have your poem
And have your poem you shall
I don’t remember what I set out to do
Because it is now January
All the color faded from the world
All the glitter and sparkles packed away
For another year
And where will it find me
I sat out
On my birthday
The halfway point almost
And gathered my courage
And walked to the edge of the yielding limb
And JUMPED
I couldn’t bring my words back
I didn’t want to anyway
And even though they weren’t repeated
I still know the truth
Even though you pretend you don’t
And yesterday
Proved something else I thought I knew
But it turned my stomach unexpectedly
More words that have been spoken
And won’t go back
Years of loaded looks
Harmless flirting
But is it harmless, really?
So here I am
Writing more words
Convincing myself it’s all real
That love still exists
But it rarely comes when you expect it
And even less from those you think
You want it from…
I never was much for convention
So this is for the cowards
I have tried to make it easy
But you still
Found a way
To hide
And I cannot be anything less
Than everything
I wish I could hate him
That's what the poems would say
If the poets were honest
Because it's too hard
I don’t have the energy
To be Scarlett
Nor do I have
The sensibility
I can’t help my heart
And it rarely helps me
But the poets will gather their will
And their quills
And find a quiet corner
Or perhaps a bench under a willow tree
To bleed their soul
And maybe
If they really meant it
They’d put rocks in their pockets
And walk steadily
Till they were over their heads
Dying beautifully
And tragically
Just like their poem said they would
Probably the daffodil
In their lapel
Wouldn’t even lose a petal
As they flung themselves off a cliff
But me?
In a rage
My hair wild and unbound and unbrushed
Flinging crockery
And maybe a high heeled shoe
Spitting venom
So harshly
My throat would be sore for days
Having a plan that involves
Kerosene and a matchbook
From a bar called
The Wayward Thistle
And a knife clenched between my teeth
And yet
I remember to be a lady
And so I sit placidly
With my sonnets
Writing about unrequited love
And bourbon cherries
Because peaches are overdone
Just like roses
I have sat
And I have lain
And I have wallowed
And I have stretched
Upon this couch
On this porch
Where I have heard children shriek on the other side of the fence
And sprinklers hiss and spit like snakes
And trains clatter and roar to their next destination
And watched
From this perch a few feet above earthworms
Tornadoes rip apart lives
Less than three miles away
And bugs fry on the blue light
Just there
And I have sweated directly underneath this fan
Guzzling beer
But it was worth it
Just to sit and be at peace
But this weekend
I have been wadded in a blanket
In the early hours
And it was perfection
With my red wine and book
As the night got deeper
And now
On my last night
I write this poem
And wonder why people need TVs
This is going to come as a shock to most all of you: I used to not like pit bulls.
I know. Hard to believe, innit? But it’s true, Scout’s Honor. I thought they were ugly, number one, and number two, vicious. I didn’t need to know anything else.
Well. Then as most of you know, I met a dog that changed all that. He was 5’10”, had blue eyes, and a propensity to drink too much. Hahaha. But honestly, a love of pit pulls was spawned with that relationship and the love of the bully breed certainly outlasted the marriage.
Sugar was my first encounter with the Staffordshire Terrier. We pittie people say that to throw people off. Pit bull is a generic term used to describe a bulldog with certain characteristics, like a muscular build and block head. Sugar was papered out the whatsit. She was one of the most pedigreed dogs I’ve ever known.
And dumb as a river rock sittin’ on the bottom, growin’ moss. (Credit to the late Uncle Dale)
She honestly didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain. She could eat more than any dog I’ve ever seen, which is unusual for a dog that’s never been starved. She was steel gray, and virtually impossible to see after the sun went down. Loyal, loving, and impossibly stupid, she would lope around outside and then all at once collapse in a heap. She wanted to fly worse than anything- vultures and chickens drove her crazy. Anyway. I loved her, regardless. I never felt like she would one day snap and eat my face off.
But the possibility was there, I guess, if she ever got really hungry.
Now, Lightning Bug was a different story. He was an intact male who had had a terribly hard time in his short three years on Earth before entering life here at the Plantation. He got brought in straight off the chain, half starved. He’d been shuffled through several different homes…if you can call his multiple residences a home. Regardless, I eyed him warily for three days before I ever dared to pet him. Despite his rough past, he showed me nothing but the purest love and would lay at my feet after running off energy in the yard. The only time he’d open his mouth on my skin was to lick my hands. He would take treats so gently that I came to hold them in my mouth and make him take them from me as a party trick.
Once, he hadn’t been here long, he was barking at the meter man. I couldn’t call him back to me, so I had to go out in the driveway to collect him. This did not set well with me, as I was not dressed for company and was barefoot. I won’t have a dog that won’t mind. And so I stomped out there across the gravel, snarling and rabid myself. LB cowered, seeing my determination and the waves of rage pouring off me. I jerked him up by the collar while my former husband was hollering, “Oh no! Amy! You better let him go, he’s gonna eat you up.” My response: “HE’LL DO IT ONE TIME AND HE BETTER MAKE IT COUNT!!!!”
I am here with all my appendages and no facial scarring to tell you the dog never snapped at me. I drug him–with his two front feet off the ground (he was short and stocky and I wasn’t going to bend over to make his life more comfortable and give him traction)–down to his runner chain.
Lesson taught. Lesson learned. Forevermore LB would turn on a dime to me mid chase of anything. He would also come get behind me if a certain alpha male was getting onto him about one misdemeanor or another. I had earned his respect, and he earned my love. I never once worried that he would bite me or attack someone unless they were intruding on us.
I have a fence. I do not have a constant parade of people in and out of here. I do not take my dogs to stores to socialize. When hunting LB’s successor, I was clear that I was looking for a guard dog as well as a friend. I knew I wanted a pit bull for many reasons. Most people are intimidated by them, absolutely. But they’re also the number one dog in shelters. They are the most widely bred dog. And they are the most misunderstood, hated, and prejudiced breed by people out there.
Why is it we blame the weapon? A shooting- the guns fault. A drunken brawl? The liquors fault. A dog attack- clearly the dog’s fault. No. The common denominator here is the person. That dog was taught to hate and maul. That drunk made the decision to have too much. The gun’s trigger was pulled by someone who couldn’t control themselves.
I am deeply sorry for the family of the victim of the recent pit bull attack. My most sincere condolences. It is tragic and a horrific way to die. I pray for peace and comfort and I hope that you get the justice you seek and freedom and forgiveness in your heart.
But please don’t place your complete blame on the dog. Blame negligent owners. And I can understand why you would have a fear of these dogs the rest of your life. I assure you I am not a part of the “brainwashed mob” as I’ve seen an eloquent commenter name pit bull lovers. But I will tell you again, as many of my long term friends and readers know: my first dog was a ChowChow. He never bit me. I had him from a puppy. I was seven when he came into my life, and twenty when he exited. I once pried a baby bunny rabbit from his jaws. He did once bite a male kid who jumped in his face and hollered. I wanted to bite him, too. I saw dogs every day in my line of work for thirteen years. I was bit on the job one time, by a Chihuahua, whom the owner assured me was “fine”. When the little sucker clamped down, she laughed and insisted he never did that before and was just playing. I have been bitten two other times, both by Chihuahuas, and both by dogs owned by family members. Pound for pound, I have no doubt they are the meanest dogs out there and I wouldn’t give you a nickel for all of them. You won’t catch me trying to pet another one.
I am positively SICK TO MY BONES of people who claim to love dogs and then share “yet another attack by a pit bull”. Remember the baby killed in Kodak last year? It was a St. Bernard. That got hushed up in a hurry after the breed was made public. You can take your pick of stories of German Shepherds, Rottweilers, and Dobermans. But you might be surprised to learn that Cocker Spaniels are rated among the most aggresive breeds and prone to bite. I stand by my personal experience with Chihuahuas. I doubt many bites get reported since they are probably much less severe compared with those from a bigger dog. (But my hand was bruised for days on end). You can find supporting documentation for whatever you decide to look for. But remember when searching most popular breeds: AKC doesn’t recognize bully breeds. While you’re out there digging up dirt plug in “nanny dog” in your search. https://www.fataldogattacks.org/
I would take my chances in a locked room with fifty hungry pit bulls than I would with some of the human race at a five star restaurant.
I guess I take my chance every day coming home to this wild child, who could lose his mind and bite my head off at any time. After all, he was starved and mistreated and he is extra large with great big jaws and he sure does have a scary bark. Eeeek. I really should just go ahead and have him put down before he takes a notion to eat me alive.
People are animals. People are vicious and malicious and full of hate. People are closed minded and pure evil.
And some people have enough sense to realize not all dogs are bad, just like not all people from Alabama are inbred.
Go Vols! And if you want pit bulls outlawed, go kick rocks. I will not publish comments that are spewing venom at this post because IT’S MY BLOG THAT COSTS ME $300 A YEAR. GET YOUR OWN BLOG.
Love to the rest of you from Appalachia, ~Amy ❤️
I had to give my dog one last pat
And rub those velvet ears
Just one final time before I left my sanctuary
And I had to be extra careful walking down the path
As it had rained last night and
Jewel colored leaves were stuck making my way slick
Then I stopped to have a discussion with my neighbor
About the woolyworm she found on her porch
Which of course led to talk of the impending winter
And so then when I finally got in my car
Without my coffee
I had to find just the right song to start my day
And as I drove in
I was mesmerized by the fog rolling steadily across the mountain
It wasn't so much the colors that stopped me
On the side of the road to take a blurry picture
As it was the way the light was sparkling so clear
With the mist continuing on its journey
Nothing delaying it
Unlike myself
Who had been interrupted half a dozen times already
It is Fall Break after all
But I didn't go to the beach
I stayed right here
Where I belong
And I thought of how some people get it
And it's second nature to use certain phrases
And it's musical
These mountain ways
So anyway
That's why I'm late
And it didn't help that I hit snooze twice